JEM Stars
by Del Schiz
Summary: 11.13.07: UPDATED! The origins of the real stars of 'JEM'. Phyllis offers a way out, in Chapter Three.
1. Chapter One

**Notes:** This is my 'main' JEM fanfic. Most of my other fanfics will tie into this one, except when they are explicitly stated NOT to be. But this isn't supposed to be a rewrite of the series. Rather, it is an examination of some other characters in the show, their motivations and pasts, that were glossed over or never told. (Not just the Misfits, either!) If I get a good response with this thing, I may write a series continuation, but right now I'm leaving that to Stormkpr and aja. 

You must read their fanfics! The power of Synergy compels you! The power of Synergy compels you!

**More Notes (March 21st, 2005):** I decided to expand this chapter after I realized that my first concepts for chapter two did not need to be separated from this one. And, just to further explain the blather up their about the state of "JEM Stars" -- All stories directly relating to the Misfits origin story will have "JEM Stars : " in front of them. All stories related to other characters (Clash, Ashley, etc.) will be labeled as being part of the 'Stars' universe in the summary.

**JEM Stars  
**a JEM fanfic by D.L. SchizoAuthoress

It was the event of the year. Spotlights sliced the night sky, beacons for adoring fans to home in on, so that they could line up along the red carpet, jostling and screaming for a glimpse of the rock superstars to come.

"It's them!" someone shouted as a ritzy-looking car pulled into view. The cry set off the horde, and similar shrieks erupted as both male and female fans surged against the velvet ropes, hands outstretched for a transient contact with celebrity. The event security had a hard time controlling the excited crowd.

As the car rolled to a stop, cameramen and reporters swarmed the pavement. The manic click and whir of photo-takers were drowned out by the crowd's chanting. The chauffer of the vehicle came around to the passenger side and opened the back door. A glamorously made-up woman with long blue hair stepped out and blew a kiss to the crowd, setting off flashbulbs, the cries of reporters, and the fans screaming,

"Stor-mer! Stor-mer!"

Stormer moved to one side as she waved and gave her dark blue curls a flip, allowing a woman with pale skin and even paler hair to exit the back seat. Roxy stepped forward aggressively, scowling as camera flashes went off practically inches from her rose-pink eyes. Her mood improved, fractionally, as the fans changed their chant.

Amid cries of "Roxy! Roxy! Roxy!" the Misfit fisted a hand on her hip and lifted her chin haughtily, letting her orange lips curve into a smirk. Beside her, but definitely not close enough to have to share a shot, Stormer posed for photos as well -- red cupids-bow mouth in a sullen pout, chin on left fist, left elbow held tight to her body by right hand, bright blue eyes sending smoldering looks out to focus on star-struck people.

After a few moments of this, the front passenger-side door opened. A shapely leg, clad in green stocking and black pump, found purchase on the sidewalk, and a lovely woman stood up out of the car. Moving like the fierce jungle cat her savage makeup evoked, the final member of the Misfits revealed herself to shrieks of, "Pi-zzaaaaazz! Pi-zzaaaaazz!"

Pizzazz smiled and raked her lime-green tresses back from her face with claw-like nails. Letting her hand rest on her shoulder for a moment, she turned toward her bandmates and indicated that it was time for a group shot. As they moved gracefully into position around her, Pizzazz glared over her shoulder at the cameras and sneered. Roxy, on her right, adopted a challenging stance, with her arms akimbo and her head tilted to one side, spilling her platinum-white locks into her eyes. Stormer, on her left, very nearly mirrored Pizzazz's pose, except that she had a gentle smile on her face, and as the camera flashed, she winked coquettishly.

Reporters thrust microphones into their faces, shouting questions almost frantically: "Will you make another album?" "Are there any love interests we should know about?" "How does it feel to be famous?"

_'I remember how it all began'_, Pizzazz thought reflectively as she snapped out automatic replies to their inquiries, _'with my sudden expulsion from boarding school...' _

_

* * *

_Phyllis Gabor, age seventeen, slouched in the high-backed, decidedly uncomfortable chair that was provided for people waiting to see the dean. She snapped her bubble gum, drawing a disapproving glare from the dean's secretary. 

Matching the older woman scowl-for-scowl, Phyllis then deliberately pulled her gum into long, thin strings and let them dangle from her lips. Fully nauseated, the secretary turned back to her typewriter. Phyllis, now unobserved, rolled the bubble gum back into a ball with her tongue and spat it onto the wall.

_'I hate this place,'_ Phyllis thought with boredom. _'Nobody's any fun, it's too damn cold, and I have to wear this stupid uniform!'_ (Said stupid uniform consisted of a navy blue, knee-length skirt, white knee-socks, a white blouse, and a navy blue blazer. Jewelry was prohibited, and students were required to wear flat-heeled dress shoes and keep their hair tied back.)

In a detatched way, Phyllis wondered why she was back in the dean's office. She'd been brought in for everything from disruption of classes to vandalism of school property, from numerous truancies to various uniform violations. In fact, right now, she was wearing a pair of black heels and green tights with her uniform, her blazer rattled with a collection of lapel buttons pinned all over, and her skirt had been hemmed up -- by a professional seamstress, of course -- to mid-thigh length.

As Phyllis mused on the possibilities, the door marked 'Dr. Bercar' opened, revealing the dean of the New England private school that Phyllis had terrorized so extensively. The thirty-something woman frowned as she took in the sight of her least-favorite student.

Dr. Bercar spoke in tones so icy that Phyllis wouldn't have been surprised to see frost forming on the woman's thin lips, "Ms. Gabor?"

Phyllis smiled and, with practiced ease, slid into the unctuous voice that got her what she wanted with Daddy, "Why, hello Dean Bercar. It's so nice to see you again! Why am I here?"

Whatever the green-haired teen was expecting it certainly wasn't Dr. Bercar's reply of, "You're expelled from this academy, Ms. Gabor, for your repeated offenses against the rules. You will pack up your things and leave campus by eight o'clock tonight." Phyllis knew that she wasn't imagining the note of smug satisfaction in Dr. Bercar's voice.

"Fine," she replied softly, "fine. I never liked this place anyway." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. Pausing in the doorway a moment, Phyllis hissed, "And you're a bitch."

The door was slammed hard enough to shake a few pictures off the walls.

* * *

"Oh, Daddy, don't worry so much!" Phyllis exclaims into the receiver. She flops backward onto the queen-sized bed of her suite, in the Four Seasons Hotel. "Dean Bercar and the rest of the faculty had it in for me anyway. And it's not like I can't just take a GED test when I get home..." Phyllis twisted the phone cord around her fingers and listened to her father's reply. 

"About that, honey, I'll be coming out to Pennsylvania on business, so just wait for me to come get you. No sense in having you run around the country on your own. Could be dangerous."

"Of course I can stay in Boston for a while, Daddy!" Phyllis exclaimed. She rushed on, eager to please him since he'd shown a bit of concern for her well-being, "And there's no need for you to get sidetracked on your business trip coming to pick me up; I'll meet you in Philadelphia next week."

"Yes, that's fine, sweetheart. Hold on a moment." Harvey Gabor could then be heard ordering some unseen third party to buy Stock A, sell Stock B, and hold onto Stock C until it dropped X number of points. This went on for several minutes, severely testing Phyllis's short temper.

A dark look flickered over the teen's features and she continued tightly, in a louder tone meant to break her father's concentration, "Well, I know you're so very busy, Daddy. Goodbye."

Mr. Gabor rattled off a distracted, "Oh, yes, sorry Phyllis. Goodbye," unnecessarily, because his daughter had already hung up in a snit.

Phyllis sighed discontently, glaring moodily at the princess phone she'd just been using. One more week on the East Coast. One more week of sneaking into eighteen-and-over clubs just to hear some decent music. She missed Club Avernes and Sally Hall, the cocktail waitress who, at nineteen, was two years her senior and could let her in the back entrance. It wasn't fair, but then, who said life was fair?

She glanced at the collection of suitcases and boxes neatly piled by the bed. The largest one contained the clothes she'd brought to wear off-campus. The next largest suitcase held her collection of records and a record player; another one of the same size held her textbooks and other such school materials. All of these were sea green vinyl, clashing horribly with the last one, a bright orange wheeled suitcase of hard plastic. This one held shoes and other accesories. Two medium-sized cardboard boxes boasted her horde of paperback books, and on top of these was the black leather case with her electric guitar.

"No point in unpacking all of this now," Phyllis said aloud, "Not when the servants can just do it for me when I get home."

* * *

Later that night, after a long, hot shower and a quick dinner ordered up from room service, Phyllis dug through her boxes of books and came up with a slightly battered copy of **Carrie**, by Stephen King. She loved the book, loved the idea of a young woman lashing out at the world with supernatural power. She imagined making Dean Bercar's head blow up and laughed, settling back onto the of pillows at the head of the bed. 

She was just beginning the climactic scene -- where Carrie gets pig's-blood spilled on her at the dance -- when she was rather rudely interrupted. A faint thumping started on the other side of the wall, soon followed by wordless cries, soft at first, but increasing in volume. Phyllis recoiled in disgust, realizing exactly just what was going on in the next room. Someone, a very vocal someone, was having sex.

_'Oh, jeez,'_ Phyllis thought unhappily, _'I got the room next to the Honeymoon Suite!'_

Clapping her hands over her ears, Phyllis fought rising panic and tried to think of what to do.

* * *

"Matilda! How many times do I have to say it?" Roberta Gabor stormed at the young maidservant. She stalked toward the other woman, grabbing her little daughter's arm on the way, and pulling the child along. 

Three-year-old Phyllis Gabor protested, "Owie, Mommy!" but kept up as best she could. Roberta abruptly flung her away, and she stumbled forward, clutching at Matilda's legs.

"Keep that child in her room when I have company! If I see her again today, you'll be out of a job!"

Matilda Bandshaw's eyes practically shot sparks of hatred as she answered, "Yes, Ma'am." She picked up the little girl and said soothinging, "Come now, Miss Gabor. Let's go play with your toys. Leave Mommy alone with her guest."

Young Phyllis looked at her mother, attired in one of her best, most beautiful dresses, speaking to the dark-haired young man and pointedly ignoring both Phyllis and Matilda. She acted this way sometimes when Daddy was around, but this man was unot/u Daddy. Roberta laughed at something the man said, and tucked a lock of her dark green hair behind one ear, leaning forward.

Matilda turned abruptly, and Phyllis couldn't see what happened. The maid ground out, "Herbert will have your drinks ready in a moment, Mrs. Gabor."

* * *

_'I didn't have to see what they did then,'_ Phyllis said to herself. She was kneeling on the floor, flipping through a box of records. _'I saw them kissing when I first walked in.'_

"Ah!" she exclaimed, finally extracting the album she wanted. Setting up the record player on the bedstand, she sneered, "See how you like some Black Sabbath, assholes." Turning the volume up all the way, Phyllis began to sing along, letting her voice twist itself into the sound, mutating into an expression of somebody that was neither Ozzy Osbourne or Phyllis Gabor, but somebody else. Somebody better than either of them.

For good measure, she started jumping on the bed and air-guitaring, too.


	2. Chapter Two

Notes: Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? I hope that "Chapter One, Extended Director's Cut Special Edition (in Widescreen Format)" kept you somewhat satisfied until this came out. This story is set midway through the second semester of the 1976-1977 school year, that is, during early spring -- about mid-April. I forgot to mention that, but that's why Phyllis was talking about GED courses to her father.

--------------------------

JEM Stars  
a jem fanfic by D.L. SchizoAuthoress

It was a typical morning for twenty-year-old Roxanne Pelligrini. She woke up, still wearing last night's clothes, to the alarm clock blaring some shitty disco song (disco being the only type of sound that both she and Link couldn't sleep through). Without bothering to hit the snooze button, she disentangled herself the bedsheets and stood up, nearly tripping over Javier (or maybe Alex) on her way to the bathroom. After she splashed some cold water on her face and brushed her silver-white hair out of its tangles, enough wakefulness was restored to her that she thought to check who exactly was in the apartment.

"Goddamn Bee-Gees," grunted a familiar voice, and the 'music' was stopped. That would be Link.

"Buenos dias a tú, tambien," came the sarcastic reply from the kitchen. Javier, that was, so it must have been Alex who had the sleeping bag last night.

Roxy padded into the living room on bare feet, avoiding discarded utensils and piles of dirty clothes with the ease of someone accustomed to such a state. A naked woman with short, spiky black hair was passed out on the couch, only partially covered by a ratty patchwork quilt. A black man curled up to a pillow on the floor was serving as a pillow to a woman with long, bleached hair, fully clothed, who still held an empty beer bottle in her right hand.

The naked one was Javier's girlfriend, Hannah. The man was Davis, lead singer of the Unsafety Pins; the woman using him as a prop was Bella, who played lead guitar. Hannah, Roxanne was irritated to admit, was the bass player, while Roxanne herself was on drums. It was completely unfair, because she was so much better than Hannah, but that's the way life was -- since Link and the other Red Aces (including Javier) were the ones paying rent on the apartment, Javier's little slut...sorry, girlfriend (who wasn't above sleeping around)...either played the instrument she wanted or went crying to Javier. And a displeased Hannah would result in Davis and Bella being kicked out.

Grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the top of the TV set, Roxanne fished through her pockets for a Bic lighter. Holding it up to one eye, she shook the plastic lighter slightly, frowning when she realized that it was empty. Scowling, she demanded, "Javier, gimme a light."

Javier came around the corner, holding a pack of matches. He flicked it in Roxanne's direction, and then draped his 'Red Aces' t-shirt over Hannah's body. Snatching the little cardboard packet out of the air, Roxanne flipped the cover up with her thumb, slicing one match off the pack with her sharp nail. She lit her cigarette and leaned against the wall, puffing contentedly for a few moments.

Not usually the most introspective of people, Roxanne was wondering how long these cramped living conditions could go on. Link and his two buddies all had part-time jobs: Alex was a janitor, Javier worked the night shift at a local grocery store as a stockboy, and Link himself delivered pizza for a living. Hannah had a full-time job flipping burgers. But Roxanne, Davis, and Bella were all out of work at the moment. Not that Roxanne particularly minded--it gave them time to practice and work on their sound.

Davis had his own studio apartment, which he shared with Bella. But the place was so crammed with musical equipment that there wasn't much of a place for them to sleep. So they often came to the Red Aces' one bedroom apartment to sleep on the floor. Hannah had been kicked out of her parents' house recently, and naturally had come to her boyfriend for a place to stay. And for Roxanne, it was either the Red Aces' apartment or her car. Sometimes, she'd choose her car, but she saw no reason why she, as a 'girlfriend' of one of the Red Aces just the same as Hannah, should have to suffer.

That was 'girlfriend' and not girlfriend because it was a conditional arrangement. Roxanne and Link were more like brother and sister than anything else; it had been that way ever since she'd left home and her mother had been arrested. Alex and Javier understood that, but it was hard to explain to other people. ("And besides," Roxanne was fond of pointing out, if such a thing ever came up in conversation, "what business is it of yours what Link and I do?") The truth was, although she'd slept with Link a few times, Roxanne didn't feel much like his girlfriend. That was all right, because Link admitted that he didn't feel much like her boyfriend. They shared a bed mostly out of habit.

Hannah had the day off from her job at the burger place because the Unsafety Pins had a show at the college campus tonight. Roxanne wandered into the kitchen and stubbed her cigarette butt out on a used plate. If the bitch wasn't up at the same time as Davis and Bella, Roxanne was gonna kick her off the couch. Literally.

-----------------

Moodily, Phyllis Gabor stared out the window as her plane touched down in Philadelphia. She'd spent four days in Boston since last speaking to her father, running up room service charges and shopping all day -- and she had been bored out of her skull. She had decided to spend an extra day in Philly, waiting for her father and checking out the action in a new city. It wasn't exactly what she wanted, which was to head straight for Los Angeles, but Phyllis couldn't really do anything about that.

_'Daddy would be upset if I went back on my promise and didn't meet him,'_ Phyllis thought. But she frowned deeply as she admitted to herself, _'Unless he forgot our conversation already...'_

He wouldn't, though. Phyllis had made sure of that -- she'd told Lee, her father's personal assistant, about her plans. So there would definitely be room made on Harvey Gabor's busy schedule for dinner with his daughter.

She hoped.

-------------------

Roxanne had managed to secure the bathroom to herself for half an hour -- time that she used to get all dolled up for the gig. She fluffed her hair with her brush, adding just a touch more Aqua Net to keep it in place, and added a few zigzagging highlights of temporary bright blue hair color, spraying a section of her bangs with the black. To her minimal everyday makeup, Roxanne added an extra coat of mascara on her lashes, and a quick retracing of her eyeliner to thicken the black lines framing her eyes. Then she coated her lids all the way up to her eyebrows with a clear lipstick, after which she closed each eye in turn and dusted her face with silvery glitter. Black lipstick and a blue heart on her left cheekbone finished off the look.

She'd already changed into her special outfit for playing with the Unsafety Pins : a black bra underneath a black mesh shirt, black nylons and bright blue stilleto pumps, and her shiny blue vinyl pants, held up by a silver belt. To this she added a double string of round black plastic beads at her neck, a blue heart earring in her right ear, and a two-inch long safety pin in her left. An incongruous hot pink bangle on her right wrist clinked against the doorknob as she exited.

Link whistled appreciatively. While he couldn't listen to the Pins play tonight because of his work shift, he was still in the apartment while the four musicians ran around getting ready. Roxanne laughed when the leader of the Red Aces began to pant like a cartoon wolf, and gave him a quick hug.

"Man, oh, man!" Link exclaimed, "Roxanne, you're gonna have to beat the guys off with a stick! Otherwise, they'll be all over you!"

"That's okay," she replied with a grin, pulling her drumsticks out of her back pocket, "I've got two right here!"

"Ha ha ha," Hannah snapped out insincerely. When Roxanne turned to glare at her, the black-haired girl commanded her, "Get down to the truck, Roxanne. Davis and Javier hauled your drum kit into the back while you were playing dress-up."

"Coming, Hannah?" Roxanne replied in a cloyingly sweet voice, "Or do you need a couple extra handfuls of toilet paper to stuff your bra with?" Then, without waiting for Hannah's surely stupid retort, Roxanne blew a kiss to Link and ran out of the apartment.

When Roxanne got to the street level, she waved to her bandmates and Javier, who was driving Hannah and Bella since Davis's truck only had room for one other person and the instruments. Everybody in the Red Aces and the Unsafety Pins knew about the feud between Roxanne and Hannah, and they tried their best to keep the two women apart.

Like Roxanne, Bella was dressed in mostly black, with similarly mascara-ed and lined eyes. But her top was made of leather, not mesh, and had no sleeves. Bella's jeans and boots were black, and she had sewn silver star-shaped buttons in random places along the length of the legs. Her makeup had a red theme, with bright red and yellow eyeshadow flames leaping up from the upper lids of both eyes, and equally bright red lipstick. Bella wore cut-off gloves of red leather, and had her hair tied up in two schoolgirlish pigtails that trailed red ribbon bows.

Davis, as the only male of the band, was the most tame looking, really. The neon-green tank top he wore was mostly hidden by his beat up leather jacket, and he wore normal-looking, if ripped, blue jeans. His naturally curly hair was fairly tame, although he had let Bella stick a silver star hairpin in it tonight. He wore no makeup, which was a rising fashion statement of the punk music community, but he did have big, glittery silver platform boots -- in the style of KISS -- on his feet.

Hannah burst out of the door a few minutes after Roxanne did. She was wearing a black button-up blouse that had been ripped in order to show the purple bra she was wearing, and a nearly pornographically short pleated purple skirt. She had fishnet stockings and purple pumps on as well. Her makeup was normal-looking in application, only dark red lipstick and purple blush on her cheekbones. Roxanne was of the opinion that Hannah's makeup was dull because the girl had no imagination whatsoever.

"Hope we're not late!" Davis cried, as Roxanne got into the passenger's seat of the truck.

"Nah," she replied, "but I can't wait to get there!"

------------------

Roxanne maneuvered her way through the crush of musicians backstage, clutching two beers. One was for Bella, and the other was for herself. She'd used Bella's ID, because Bella's bleach-blonde hair looked a lot like her naturally white hair, and everybody who saw Roxanne's pink eyes assumed that she was wearing color contacts. It was easier that trying to pass off a fake ID.

Bella popped up and snagged her bottle. Roxanne was about to take a drink from her own when somebody ran into her from the side, and Roxanne just barely avoiding spilling the alcohol on herself. She came face-to-face with a scowling teenager with acid-green hair and clashy-colored makeup.

"Watch it!" she cried, at the same time that Roxanne did.

"Watch what? You were in my way!" Roxanne accused quickly.

She gave the green-haired girl a quick onceover. You couldn't tell sometimes, whether people had dyed their hair those crazy colors, or if it was natural. This girl was wearing a black miniskirt and a T-shirt with writing on it underneath a navy-blue blazer with pins stuck all over. Roxanne didn't know what the shirt, or half the buttons, said. But, really. The schoolgirl look was overdone.

'Maybe she's a Hannah-groupie,' Roxanne thought scornfully, and asked the girl, "You here to play, kid?"

"I'm not a kid!" the girl shrieked. Because of the noise in the club and backstage, it was necessary to shout, but this girl was loud even in such an environment. "I'm just back here because I couldn't get in the front door!"

"Ain't here to play, out of the way," Roxanne responded coldly, and shoved the girl aside as she went to find Davis.

------------------

Phyllis fumed. How dare that trashy bitch talk to her that way? Phyllis Gabor was gonna be a star, while that stupid woman was stuck playing on college campuses.

Phyllis shoved a path out of the backstage area and managed to fight for a position right up near the stage. There were several men in her wake, smarting from a cutting retort or a stomped foot. Phyllis knew how to use her high heels to her advantage.

She ripped off the silly orange scarf she wore around her neck, and tied it to her upper arm. No sense in losing a twenty dollar accessory at this shithole. In retrospect, she kind of wished that she hadn't worn her Edgewood Academy blazer, but she'd been too lazy to remove all the pins and put them on a more appropriate jacket. The Club Avernes tee she was wearing might earn her some points, though.

Most of the bands here were crap. Touchy-feely pop music and horrible disco-flavored original songs were the order of the evening for the majority of the groups. A lot of the patrons seemed to dig it, though Phyllis had joined the very vocal minority that was throwing stuff at the band onstage and demanding the Unsafety Pins. Phyllis, of course, had no idea who the Unsafety Pins were, but she hadn't seen the punkish girl with the weird pink eyes in any of the acts so far.

After three of the awful bands' twenty-minute sets, Phyllis was beginning to lose hope. The university's campus club had been the only one she'd been able to locate that wasn't a disco dance place. If she had to listen to any more covers of Donna Summer, she was gonna scream and bolt back to her hotel room.

"This sucks," a young man nearby said.

"Yeah," his girlfriend (Phyllis guessed, but the woman was hanging on to him pretty tight) replied, "But Davis Kemp's band is here. He and his girl, Bella, they rock it pretty hard."

Maybe she could ride it out, if the Unsafety Pins were any good.

TO BE CONTINUED...

A/N: This time, I promise that I won't add an extra scene to the end of the chapter. I decided to be nice and do what Flare and Stormkpr told me to. Hahaha. But I promise I won't make a habit of it, either.


	3. Chapter Three

JEM Stars  
a JEM fanfic by D.L. SchizoAuthoress  
------

"Man!" Hannah exclaimed, listening to the music that the other bands were playing, "This crowd's really into that shit. They'll hate us! We'll probably get tossed off the stage!"

"What are they gonna do," Bella demanded, "throw beer bottles at us? We can take it."

"Hell yeah!" Roxanne crowed, pumping her fist in the air to show her excitement.

Davis, meanwhile, said to his worried bandmate, "Don't worry about it, Hannah. We've got fans, too. I wouldn't have gotten us this gig if there wasn't interest in our music."

Roxanne held back a scornful remark directed at Hannah, only craning her neck to look over the other woman's head. There were a few punkishly attired people near the stage, and if she listened well, she could hear them over the awful music being pumped out of the speakers.

"Get off the stage!" and "We want the Pins!" accompanied a hail of beer cans and bottles, not to mention the occasional handful of cardboard drink coasters. (Fortunately for the bands onstage, there was a screen shielding them from such missles.) Roxanne smiled. Hannah had no reason to be concerned; Davis was one of the best all-around band leaders she knew. He was a good musician and lead vocalist, he understood the value and methods of good publicity (especially word-of-mouth), and he took care of his backing musicians without acting like they didn't have good sense. Roxanne had been in a few other bands before the Unsafety Pins -- mostly cover bands and go-nowhere, do-nothing garage affairs -- and none of them had treated her right. She might have had valid complaints about Hannah, but she liked and respected Davis and Bella both.

Finally, it was time for the Unsafety Pins to take the stage. The backdrop curtains closed, and the previous band hustled off the stage. Everybody had to move quick; the weekend crowd at the campus club could get pretty rowdy if they had to wait too long between sets. Roxanne hauled her drum kit onstage by herself. She had to, because everybody else was sorting out the tangle of wiring that hooked up to the amplifiers. Usually, the places that the Unsafety Pins played at were strictly BYOE -- Bring Your Own Equipment -- but this club let every band use the same sound system, and Davis was trying to take advantage of that.

"Trying" was the operative word -- Hannah wasn't making anything very easy. She kept trying to plug into the amp that Bella and the other band's lead guitarist were already starting to switch places on, and when Bella shoved her away, she stormed over to Davis. He'd already grabbed another amp for his guitar (since Davis also played backup) and was too busy doing a mic check to bother with Hannah's problems.

Roxanne checked her watch. Davis had wanted everything set in five minutes. They were already pushing it, and their bass player wasn't even plugged in, much less in place. She got up and, holding her drumsticks between clenched teeth, snatched the instrument from Hannah and located an amplifier that was free. Hooking up the equipment was a breeze for her, and she shoved the bass guitar back at Hannah just as Davis gave them the Look.

The Look was Bella's joking name for how Davis would always piercingly glance over his shoulder at each of them after their set-up time had elapsed. Roxanne scurried behind her drumkit, and hoped that Davis could buy Hannah some time to tune up a little. She knew she didn't have to say anything about it, because Davis could read the panic in Hannah's eyes. The other musician was long gone, and Bella smiled reassuringly at her boyfriend. Roxanne gave him a quick nod and a thumbs-up, and then the curtain rose.

"I see we've got some fans in here!" Davis said, going directly into his stage persona. He swaggered up to the microphone stand near the front of the stage, flanked by Bella on his right and Hannah on his left. The black-haired girl was frantically tuning up, but Bella was ready.

"How'd they get past security?" she said into her microphone, "Most of 'em look like they could trash everybody else in this place without trying!" That statement was met with shouts and cheers from the fans.

Davis grinned and replied, "Well, hell, why don't we give them some music to do it by?"

---------------

"All right!" Phyllis shouted. Finally, a band that knew what was hot. Disco might have been the popular choice of the day, but rock music was what had a future. She was absurdly pleased to see that white-haired, pink-eyed woman in the band. Somehow, it would have been totally wrong had she been with any other group.

The tall black man, made taller by his extravagant platform boots, was obviously Davis, the frontman of the Unsafety Pins. He strutted across the stage as the bleach-blonde woman in red jammed on the lead guitar. The fans screamed their approval, recognizing a familiar riff from the Pins original repitoire. "Hey, Bella, I think they like that!" Davis Kemp said, grinning.

"Yeah, Hannah, don't leave 'em hanging. Roxanne's gonna kill you." Bella said to her fellow guitar player. The black-haired girl across the stage glared at her and started to play. It was clear that she wasn't as skilled as Bella, or even Davis, once he joined in.

'Roxanne,' Phyllis thought, 'that must be the drummer. I wonder what's between her and that crappy bass player?'

Roxanne quickly revealed her musical prowess on the drums, and Davis started singing the song. Phyllis tried to pay attention to the lyrics, but the hypnotically driving beat that Roxanne was pounding out captured her ear. She wanted that sound, wanted that power backing her up when she sang. She hadn't been looking for it, but now that she'd found it, there was no way that she was going to let it go.

---------------

"We're being shadowed," Bella remarked to Roxanne, indicating with her eyes where the drummer ought to look. Roxanne whirled around and peered through the half-lit gloom of the alley in time to see a flash of bright green as someone jumped backward and pressed against the wall.

Phyllis gasped, feeling her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She hadn't expected anybody to notice her, much less for Roxanne to move so suddenly in looking for her. However, as soon as she felt the slimy puddle-water from the alley soaking into her pumps, Phyllis felt foolish. There was no need for her to sneak around after the Unsafety Pins -- it was a free country, and she had a legitimate reason to talk to them.

"Who's over there?" Roxanne barked.

"Goddammit!" Phyllis cried, stepping into the circle of pavement wanly illuminated by a flickering streetlight. She shook her feet like a housecat shedding water from its back paws and accused shrilly, "You scared the hell out of me! These shoes are totally ruined now!"

"Hey, Rox," Bella said, elbowing Roxanne in the ribs gently, "it's that loud girl that wasted your beer."

Phyllis stormed up to the two older girls, grumbling, "I am not loud!"

"Did you want an autograph or something, kid?" Roxanne asked, smirking.

"No!" Phyllis retorted, fuming, as she glared at Roxanne. Only idiots ever asked for autographs! She laid a hand on her chest and declared, "I'm a musician, too. From L.A."

"Yeah?" Roxanne murmured, intrigued.

"Oh, yeah. I'm looking for a backing band, y'see." Phyllis lied easily, "My old band really sucked, and you know how it goes. Had to cut and run, or suffer being stuck with those losers forever."

Roxanne nodded, recalling her own experiences with former bandmates, particularly the fights she'd often had with the songwriter of Human Wreckage. That had been the really bad time right before Javier had introduced her to Davis and Bella. "That's why you came back East, huh?"

Seeing that the older woman wasn't challenging her lie, Phyllis continued more truthfully, "I'm more of a singer than anything, and I've got this friend, who works at Club Avernes -- she writes some really good stuff. Her name's Slay, and--"

"Oh, piss on this," Bella snapped, rubbing her bare arms vigorously. "You two can yammer about music indoors somewhere. I'm freezing!"

Phyllis and Roxanne broke gazes, and both looked at Bella. "Oh, right..." Phyllis said vaguely. "Um, you want my jacket?"

The guitarist grinned ruefully. "Nah. You need it more'n me, California girl." She put her arm around Roxanne's shoulders and said, "C'mon, if we run to the car, it might warm me up a bit."

---------------

"I'm going to be eighteen in October."

Phyllis wasn't sure why she always seemed to be defending herself around Roxanne. The rest of the Unsafety Pins were obviously a lot older than Phyllis, all in their early to mid-twenties, with Roxanne as the youngest at twenty.

The young woman leaned close and murmured in the green-haired girl's left ear, "I just had a birthday this January. I'm not that much older than you."

Phyllis shot Roxanne a grateful look. For all her posturing and rudeness, Roxanne was okay.

---------------

The rest of the night was spent in the bar -- most of their companions were drunk, but Roxanne was the designated driver and the bartender had carded Phyllis the moment they walked in, so the two ladies talked.

"It's totally not fair," Roxanne sneered, glad to finally be voicing her opinion on Hannah to someone who might take her side. "That bitch gets to play bass just because she fucks Javier, who pays rent on the place we stay at. And she's shit."

"Yeah she is," Phyllis agreed, swirling her straw and making the cherries at the bottom of her Roy Rogers appear against the yellowish glass. She glanced across the large round table at Hannah and Javier, distastefully noting how sloppily they made out.

"I can play bass guitar," Roxanne bragged, "way better than that bitch. And you heard me on drums."

Dispensing one of her rare compliments, Phyllis said simply, "I love your style."

Roxanne grinned. "Thanks. Drummers don't get many fans, you know. We're in the background -- practically blend in with the curtains..."

"No way!" Phyllis exclaimed, "Roxy, sweetie, if there's anything you NEVER do, it's blend in. People who blend in get trampled!"

Thinking quickly, Phyllis realized that she had to offer Roxanne something big to get her -- a chance to make it, away from Philadelphia and all the people that didn't believe in her. She laid a hand atop of Roxanne's, and said honestly, "I mean it, Roxy. You're worth a lot more than this," she waved her free hand slightly, indicating the whole of the bar, the neighborhood, the way of life, "and you shouldn't take their crap. Slumming it; that's all they expect you to do, isn't it?"

Roxanne glanced down at Phyllis's soft, pretty hand lying atop her own. The younger woman saw a lot, with those hard green eyes, than most people ever cared to see about her.

"I think you can do more." Phyllis paused, then said firmly, "I know it."

"Nah," Roxanne said softly, "ain't nothing more for me than this. Ain't no way out."

Phyllis smiled. "Yes, there is. We'll go to Los Angeles; Slay's been after me to get us another member -- if your guitar-playing is anything like your drumming, you'd be perfect!"

---------------

Perfect. There hadn't been anyone to call her perfect, ever.

Roxanne herded her drunken bandmates up the stairs. Link had swung by the bar and taken Javier's keys, so at least both vehicles were around. They all collapsed in various places around the apartment -- Bella and Davis had the bed tonight -- and she sat at the kitchen table, unable to quiet the storm of thoughts keeping her awake.

Roxanne wasn't perfect. Far from it. Didn't mean that she didn't like the sound of it, being called that. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the coaster that Phyllis had scribbled a phone number on.

'Just think about it,' Phyllis said, 'and give me a call. I'll only be here for a few more days, though...'

This was it. Roxanne allowed herself to smile, to hope. This was the chance that she hadn't dared dream about.

She grabbed the phone from the counter and dialed.


End file.
